Halloween: The Devil's Eyes
by Ammicus Prague
Summary: Presented in two parts, my take on Halloween! Part 1 - The Devil's Eyes. When Michael Myers kills his sister, he is brought to Smith's Grove. The wizened Dr. Loomis is charged with watching over him until he turns twenty-one. But while he is there, a number of incidents occur. Can Dr. Loomis handle him, or will he cave in to this arduous task?
1. Prologue

_Black cats and goblins and broomsticks and ghosts_

_Covens of witches with all of their hosts_

_You may think they scare me, you're probably right _

_Black cats and goblins on Halloween night_

_Trick or treat..._

* * *

**HALLOWEEN: THE DEVIL'S EYES**


	2. Oct 31, 1963

THE SHAPE watched the house across the street with a chilling focus. It was an average-sized house, on a normal street in a suburban neighborhood. 45 Lampkin Lane. It was the shape's house. The front porch lights were turned on as if expecting someone.

A car pulled up to the house, and a young man of about seventeen exited it. He had short blond hair and wore a blue-and-white striped t-shirt. The teenager walked up the steps and entered the house.

The shape moved across the street. Gliding over to the house, it could hear voices.

"-Michael's around here somewhere - take that thing off!"

It moved to the window. The boy and a girl were sitting on the couch, watching TV. It was Halloween; there were countless monster movies on tonight. The two, however, were not interested in the movie, but more in each other. They kissed on the couch.

"Let's go upstairs," said the boy.

"Oh, all right," the girl relented.

Dropping the clown mask he had used to startle the girl, the boy led her out of the living room and up the stairs. The shape watched them, lifting its gaze to the window above. A single light was shining.

Then it went off.

The shape moved back to the front of the house, through the front door. It made not a sound. Seeing the deserted living room, it turned off the TV. The shape picked up the mask, putting it on himself. Walking into the kitchen, it strode to a drawer, pulled it out, and unsheathed a large kitchen knife. And there it waited.

After a while, the boy came down the stairs.

"Call me later," the girl's shrill voice followed him.

"Yeah, Judith." The boy went out the kitchen door, not seeing the shape as he left. It heard the car leave, then ascended the stairs itself. It made its way into a small bedroom, where the girl sat at her mirror, brushing her hair. She was singing to herself, an innocent song that made the fact of what she had just done that much more ironic.

She noticed the shape entering the room. "Michael!" the girl shrieked once.

The shape plunged the knife into her, over and over without remorse. When the girl ceased to scream, it stared at her body for a long time. Its task completed, it left the bedroom.

Another car was pulling up. Walking out the kitchen door, it halted in front of it as two people walked up. "Michael?" puzzled the man as he pulled the mask from the shape's face.

The adults froze in shock.

A six-year-old boy gazed blankly beyond them. His face was utterly emotionless, his eyes empty and cold. The knife rested in his hand, blood spattered all over it. He wore a simple, dollar-store clown costume.

Michael Myers stood forever before his parents. His sister Judith was dead.


	3. Nov 6, 1963

Doctor Terence Wynn, the administrator of Smith's Grove Sanitarium, watched uneasily as the tan car pulled into the drive. A portly man in a trenchcoat and a brown suit exited, walking calmly over to him. "Good day, Terence," the man said.

"Sam. Good to have you here." The two walked briskly back to the main building.

"What is the status?" asked the trenchcoated man.

Terence cleared his throat. "His name's Michael Audrey Myers. Committed for the murder of his sister, Judith Myers, on this past Halloween."

"What's so special about that?" the man inquired.

"He was only six, Sam."

Sam frowned. "I see. What have they diagnosed him with?"

"That's the thing. They haven't found anything wrong with him. He was mentally healthy when he committed the murder."

"You're telling me," pondered Sam, "that this boy just snapped for no reason whatsoever, and killed his sister simply because he could?"

"We have no other motive at the moment. He will not talk to us, and the parents stated the two did not quarrel at home beyond the usual sibling rivalries. There's - there's nothing left."

"Where is his room?" Sam opened the door into the lobby, Terence following.

"Room 714. East hall."

The two arrived quickly at his room. Peering through the narrow, rectangular window, they looked upon the boy.

He simply sat in front of a wall. He did not move.

"He's done that for three days now," Terence said. "He hardly even eats anymore. It's not right."

Sam nodded. "How long is he staying?"

"Until he's 21. Then he'll be tried by the state as an adult."

Terence opened the door. Sam walked into the room; immediately noticing the change in temperature. The boy continued to stare at the wall.

"Michael?"

The boy didn't move.

"My name is Doctor Loomis. I'm your new psychologist...it's nice to meet you."

Nothing.

"I'll be talking to you for a while. Until you leave here."

Loomis was getting nowhere. A look of gloom came over Terence.

"Michael, please listen to me."

The boy rose up. He rotated the chair in a robotic, trancelike movement that was eerily unnatural. Then he took his seat again.

The boy's face chilled Loomis to his very core. It was completely, utterly, and creepily blank. It was pale and unnerving. His eyes, however, were black, deep, and evil. It was like they were a machine of their own, as if they were planning the best way to torture him. He had never seen anything like it.

This would be a long fifteen years.


	4. Jan 16, 1964

Loomis put his head in his hands.

In the year and one month that Loomis had been treating Michael, no progress was made. No efforts could reach the poor boy, who simply sat staring at the blank wall. He had stopped eating. He did not come out of his room. Dr. Wynn had given up on Michael already, but Loomis was a more patient man. He had gotten much worse out of people; Michael simply needed to break out of his shell. He told himself this before every session.

But the child still made him uneasy. He had never seen a look of such emptiness. It was uncomfortably unnatural. Just being in the room with the child gave him goosebumps.

"He's not normal, Terence."

Wynn looked over his cup of morning coffee. They were in the lounge; Loomis's daily session was to begin.

"It's as if some evil is hidden inside him. It's as if he's waiting for something. Something inevitable."

"He's waiting to die?"

Loomis shook his head. "No. It's not like someone on death row, wasting away as they get closer to their last breath. He really thinks he's getting out of here."

"Surely the death penalty won't come into play?" asked Wynn. "After all, he was only six when it happened."

"He was aware of his actions, Terence. He's no schizophrenic or MPD. He has no mental deficiencies or disorders. We can't plead insanity."

Wynn nodded.

"You'd better get along, Loomis. Try to get him to talk. If he can't do that, he may be able to write, or draw."

* * *

"Michael?"

The boy turned to face him, going through the motions of turning his chair around. Loomis brought a small table over to where they sat.

"Can you do something for me?" He paused, then pulled a pencil and paper from his chest pocket.

The silence was loud.

"Could you please draw a picture of your family for me?"

Michael simply sat there, looking at him. It seemed the boy thought that this was an insult to his intelligence.

"I know it seems childish, but - oh, who am I kidding, you're only six-"

For the slightest moment, Loomis could have sworn he saw a threatening anger cross the boy's face.

"I'm sorry, Michael, it's just that...I'm trying to help you. I don't want you to be here. I want to see you live your life, and prosper. But if you want to get out of here, then you have to cooperate with me."

The faintest huff issued from the boy. He wasn't buying it.

Loomis took back the paper from Michael. "Alright," Loomis resigned, "I'll help you. So there's your mother."

He drew a simple stick figure, adding hair and eyes.

"There's your father."

Another stick figure, this time with shorter hair, and a bit taller.

"Your sister."

A miniature version of the mother.

"Do you have any other siblings?"

Michael blinked.

"Well, all that's left, then, is you."

Loomis drew a small figure. Spinning it around, he pushed it to Michael and gave him the pencil.

"Can you describe your family?"

The pencil lay still in his hand. He grasped it like a knife, studying the picture.

Suddenly, the pencil flashed out like lightning. Michael slammed it into the desk, embedding the picture. Loomis threw himself back, then hastily went to remove the pencil. He was surprised to discover it was very well wedged into the desk. After a good-sized heave, he broke the tip off into the desk and took the picture.

"I think that's enough for today."

Loomis went to leave, taking a glance at the picture and noticing a hole through the head of the smaller female figure.


	5. Mar 30, 1965

Loomis rushed to the medical hall. He had been notified of an urgent situation regarding Michael.

One of the doctors gestured for him to come over. They entered a room where a young girl was sobbing into her hands.

"What is it, Sarah?" asked the doctor, crouching to comfort her.

"I can't tell!" burst Sarah.

"Yes, you can. It's alright, you won't get into any trouble."

"H-he said t-that if I did, he w-would-"

The girl could not continue, and a new wave of tears flooded from her eyes. Dread slowly filled Loomis at the thought of what his patient could have done.

"Sarah, please! Nobody's gonna hurt you. Just, please, tell me."

She looked up and glanced around. Upon seeing that her attacker wasn't present, she continued.

"Aaron Young said his older brother was telling him about the weird kid in the east hall. He said all kinds of things...like he was some sort of demon child. Like he had evil witch powers. That he was gonna kill everyone here!"

"Come on, Sarah. What did he do?"

She fearfully looked up at him. "H-his brother thought i-it was a good idea t-to get r-rid of him. So when the boy was taken out for group, h-he snuck in there and messed up his room. He wrote things on the walls. They were h-horrible."

"What else, Sarah? What else?"

"A-Aaron brought me with him and his brother to s-see. It scared me, what they wrote. It was so mean...And then he came in there and saw us..."

The girl lifted her hair and revealed horrible marks on her neck; they appeared to be from strangulation.

"He wouldn't let go of me. I thought I would die."

"What happened to the others?" Loomis asked softly.

"Aaron ran off. His brother tried to get the boy off of me, and he let me go and then he - he -"

The girl began to cry again. Loomis took her by her shoulders.

"Sarah, what did he do?"

Sarah sniffed. "He bit his arm."

* * *

"Yep, it's a nasty bite. Kid's got teeth," said the medical examiner. She was inspecting Robert Young, a mischevious teenager who liked to mess with people. He was gasping in pain - Michael had bitten him on his jugular.

"Luckily it wasn't enough to sever it, but there was a good amount of blood." The examiner wrapped a bandage tight around his arm, very carefully. After it was done, she said, "You're free to go."

Without looking back, the boy took off.

The examiner turned to look at Loomis and the doctor. "Michael could've killed him had he bitten harder. You should isolate him."

Loomis looked sideways at her. "He's already isolated. He's a prisoner within his mind. It controls him. It uses him."

She nodded. "Well, if I were you, I wouldn't leave him unguarded. He could do something much worse given the chance."


	6. Jul 28, 1966

The young girl nervously clutched the hand of the police officer. She was led down a long hallway that culminated in an office. Above the door, it said:

_Otto Kerner, Jr._

_Governor of Illinois_

The officer opened the door, allowing her to sit on a chair within the office. "Mr. Kerner, sir," said the officer, "This is Laurie."

"Hello, Laurie," Governor Kerner said, smiling in a vain effort to make the girl feel at home. The poor thing; she couldn't have been more than five. "My name is Otto. I'm going to introduce you to your foster parents."

Laurie nodded. Her eyes were large and innocent, with a curious gleam. The naivety of a child was something coveted by those who had all but lost it.

The couple hurriedly entered the office. "Hello, Laurie," the woman said. "I'm Pamela. This is my husband Morgan. Do you want to come home with us?"

Laurie got up off the chair, walking over to them. "Momma?" she asked, holding out her hand.

"That's right, dear. This is 'Papa'." Pamela gestured to Morgan, who awkwardly extended his hand as if it were a business agreement. Laurie was all too happy to shake.

The new family was hustled out of the office by the officer. Another man in a trenchcoat took their place.

"Are you sure this was the right thing to do?" he asked.

Kerner gestured for the officer to leave. "Dr. Loomis," he began in a tired fashion, "this is for everyone's best interest. I've sat on it for two years now. It isn't fair for this girl to grow up knowing who he is, what he's done - "

"She'll very well find out. There's an inquisitive nature to her. I can tell...let us hope she doesn't get herself into any sticky situations."


	7. Aug 19, 1967

"Michael Myers cannot stay here any longer."

Loomis desperately pleaded to his and Wynn's superior, Dr. Carpenter. He was an average man with long black hair and a bushy mustache. Dr. Jennifer Hill sat next to him.

"Dr. Carpenter," Hill said, "I suggest we move him to Litchfield. It's a maximum-security ward, and he won't be able to harm anyone. Please."

Carpenter shook his head. "Jen, that would cost us several hundred dollars that we don't have. I'm sorry, but Myers stays."

Loomis tried to butt in. "Dr., can we at least get him into a separate, private ward or somewhere he won't be able to get out? It's for the greater good. If you knew what this boy was - "

"I know exactly what he is." Carpenter huffed, then said, "As for what this boy 'is', he is merely a catatonic exhibiting comatose behavior over killing his sister. Myers will remain in the open juvenile ward."

"He isn't catatonic. I know there's something there. He hasn't completely shut down yet...but he is prone to aggressiveness when provoked. I have treated this boy for almost four years now. He isn't just some traumatized cold case. He is not human. Take me seriously, Carpenter, I'm telling you..." Loomis's shoulder's sagged, as he was getting nowhere. "It would be best to either move him to a private room or into a maximum-security facility. Our security here is not sufficient enough to hold him for much longer. And if he escapes, it's going to be all on you."

"No. He will remain here. You will continue to treat him or else he will be given to someone other than you. Do you understand?"

Loomis looked to Hill in defeat. "Very well," he said, "but it's your funeral."

The two walked out of the forum chamber. As soon as they were out of earshot, Loomis whispered, "That Dr. Carpenter is as bull-headed as they come. I don't like this one bit. It seems you are the only one who believes me."

"Sam," Hill said reassuringly, "it's going to be all right. Wynn's talking to him."

"What does he know? He's Carpenter's bloody puppet, someone's always breathing down his neck for some reason or another. No one but I can be safe around Michael. I have to stay."

"Sam, if this isn't Carpenter's funeral, it's ours..."

Loomis glanced at the room in front of him. He vaguely registered that it was Michael's. A quick peek inside revealed him sitting in front of the wall, calm as ever.

"You've fooled them, haven't you, Michael?" he said to the door. "But not me."


	8. Oct 8, 1968

Tony O'Malley was a psychopath. He had been sent to Smith's Grove because he'd violenty attacked his father while he was in bed, nearly killing him. When questioned about the incident, his only given motive was "he made me mad sometimes." Thusly, to avoid charging a minor with aggravated assault and to shut up the press, the boy was sent to Smith's Grove. Even there he caused incidents - sometimes someone's bedsheets would go missing, or perhaps a letter from family would be found torn to bits.

One day, when he'd been at the sanitarium for seven years, he saw the Smith's Grove security bringing in a young boy. This intrigued him; usually someone would come with their parents or guardians, but never with so much protection.

Upon talking to the boy the following week, he found that the new kid would not respond. It irritated Tony to his wit's end; he always found some way to discover how people ticked. It was his greatest skill and his worst weakness. After several tries, he relented.

Day after day he attempted to get a response from Michael. Day after day Michael ignored him, and it drove Tony mad. He began to bully him, pushing him down or tripping him as he walked through the corridors. He gloried in the boy's supposed despair; but still he kept a blank, uncaring expression on his face.

At last Tony's curiousity reached its peak. Waiting until soon after the eagle-eyed Dr. Loomis left Michael's presence, he slipped in unnoticed.

"Hey, Mikey." Tony swaggered into the room like a rooster. "Got a surprise for you."

Michael remained in the chair. He could just barely hear a faint snoring issuing from him.

"Ah, so you don't wanna talk, huh?" he cried. "That's cool. Let's get to it, then. Wakey, wakey!"

He lashed out, catching Michael around the neck in a headlock. They wrestled furiously, Michael attempting to loosen Tony's hold. He began fumbling for anything he could use and found a solitary crayon on his nightstand. Grasping it quickly, he jammed it into Tony as hard as he could, muffling the howl of pain with the nearby bedsheet. Dragging Tony's body across the hall, he stuffed him under Roger Soles's bed.

It took all of half an hour for the doctors to find Tony, raging and screaming his lungs out. By that time Roger had been woken up from a deep sleep; he was a narcoleptic who was known for cutting himself, and had crashed after lunch. Due to the circumstantial evidence, they could only surmise that poor Roger had stabbed Tony in his left eye with the crayon. But as soon as Loomis heard of the attack, he knew what had really happened.

"Wynn," he started when he arrived that night, "it was Michael."

"Loomis, don't start tonight," Wynn lamented. "The poor boy died in the hospital several minutes ago. We don't need any nonsense tonight."

They looked into the room; Roger was rocking back and forth, glasses askew, repeating over and over:

"If thy eye offend thee, pluck it out. If thy eye offend thee, pluck it out...if thy eye offend thee, pluck it out..."


	9. Oct 31, 1971

"No."

Dr. Carpenter strolled through the Smith's Grove Atrium, Loomis in hot pursuit. "Why the devil should we have a _Halloween party_? Come on, Dr. Carpenter! Don't you know what today is?"

Carpenter nodded uncaringly. "Yep. It's the day that you move on. He's a hopeless case, Sam. Just let him stay here until his term runs out."

Loomis scoffed in disbelief. "Excuse me?" he demanded. "I have dedicated my life to helping people as best I can, and you're telling me to quit? Give up?"

Carpenter turned to him, stopping dead in his tracks. "Sam, that boy has been nothing but trouble. He's injured two kids and killed another. Nothing is getting to him. I know that you're persistent. That's why I hired you. But neither you nor I can do anything about him anymore."

"So why the party, then?"

"Because. The Illinois Mental Patient Aid Association is on my rear end about neglecting these children and I don't want any more lawsuits. We're going to have a party tonight, whether you like it or not."

* * *

The juvenile hall was full tonight.

The patients were dressed up in various costumes. Their parents had been able to drop by and supply them, having cleared out two party stores to do so. It was spectacular; cobwebs were hung on the walls, pumpkins were everywhere, and the staff (sans Loomis and Dr. Wynn) were also dressed up. At this particular moment, some of the kids were playing musical chairs. Even Michael had been dragged from his room to participate.

The kids were walking around the circle of chairs. Michael had easily been able to stay in; he bulldogged his way onto a chair, anxious to return to his room. Now the number of chairs remaining numbered seven.

The girl behind him, Nancy, was dressed as a witch; her bulky hat and dress enabled her to wrestle her way onto a chair. As they walked, suddenly the music turned off. Nancy hastily pushed Michael out of the way, causing him to get out.

"Ha, ha!" she cried in triumph. "Poor Mikey can't even play musical chairs!"

Michael threw her a horrible glance.

Meanwhile, Loomis and Hill were chatting. Hill was dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein; her wig was itchy, and she spent a majority of the time scratching her head and adjusting her ridiculously high heels. This caused Loomis to chuckle. "You know, I think you look rather attractive like this, Jennifer," he remarked.

"Thanks. Who are you dressed up as? A grouchy old grandpa?"

"No. I was going to dress up as a tool, but I couldn't find a suit in Wynn's size that I could wear."

Hill cracked up laughing, nearly falling backwards. "I swear, this thing must be three feet tall and ten pounds," she said as she adjusted her wig for the umpteenth time.

Suddenly, the lights began to flicker on and off. "The generator," Hill said to Loomis, who nodded solemnly. Hill sighed. "What's your problem?" she asked, noticing his unblinking gaze in the direction of the musical chairs.

"Him."

"Sam, you did your best. For once, I agree with Dr. Carpenter – it's time to move on-"

The lights shut off entirely. Grabbing a flashlight, one of the staff members gestured in Hill's direction. "Mrs. Hill! We need you to come help us!"

Hill limped over to the beam and out of sight.

After ten minutes, the lights went up. Screams issued from the corner of the room, near the apple-bobbing contest. A body was draped over the side of the barrel, unmoving and still.

"Oh, my…" Loomis said to himself. "Somebody! Call an ambulance!"

He and another staff member dragged the body out of the water. It was a small girl; she was cold and pale.

"She's dead."

The staff member looked up. "Finger marks around the neck," he said. "Someone held her in – Doctor! Where are you going?" he asked as Loomis took off.

* * *

Dr. Hill stumbled back towards the juvenile hall. She had removed the devil spawn from her head, throwing the wig back in her room. The generator had taken longer than usual to turn back on; one of the wires had come loose from its socket. Hill had always had to take care of it, and years of doing so had made her quicker.

A small, lithe figure darted through a door and up the stairway at the end of the hall. "Michael?" she said, following the figure. She ran up four flights of stairs, which was an accomplishment in and of itself in six-inch heels, and came upon the roof.

Michael was indeed waiting.

"Michael, please get down," she asked, holding her hands out in front of her. "Go back inside."

The boy shook his head.

"Michael, please," pleaded Hill.

There was a large, thick chimney on top of the building; Michael disappeared behind it. Hill strode over to it – but Michael was no longer there.

He darted out from around the chimney, shoving her with all his might. She toppled over the edge of the roof, holding on with one hand.

"Michael!"

Her pinky slipped off.

"Michael, please!"

A curious thing happened next; the murderous gaze dropped from the boy's face, and he tilted his head to the side. By now, Hill was holding on by her first two fingers.

"Help me!" she cried as she plummeted down to the ground.

.


	10. Epilogue

The three doctors stood in front of the building. Loomis paced back and forth as Wynn and Carpenter chattered like mice.

"-going to have to isolate him-"

"-he's fourteen, though, we still can't charge him with anything – "

Loomis butted in abruptly. "Tell me, why do you care now?"

Carpenter looked up. "You were right. He is much too dangerous to be kept out in the open. We'll have to put him in the cell ward, effective tonight."

"No, Carpenter!" Loomis shouted. "We can't keep him here! Not after tonight, not after what happened – "

"Doctor Carpenter! There's another body over here."

Loomis snapped to attention. "Come on!" he yelled to Carpenter and Wynn, who rushed over with him around the building.

There lay Dr. Hill, sprawled out on the pavement. There was blood everywhere.

"No…no…" Loomis uttered in despair. "What happened?!" He grabbed the medic's shirt as if his life depended on it.

"She fell from the top, looks like," he said. "The indentations say as much. Plus her head's split open like a banana peel."

Loomis broke down. In the years that he'd been at Smith's Grove, Hill had been the only one who truly believed him. The only one who understood him. His faithful colleague. And now she was dead.

"Come on, Loomis. Get up."

As Wynn and Carpenter dragged Loomis to his feet, he looked up. Michael was glaring out of his window.

He staggered to his feet. His face snarled into a furious sneer.

"You devil," he said to the night. "You demon, you evil, maniacal bastard, you! I'll make sure the only thing you see for the rest of your life is your damned prison cell!"

The echoes flew into the air, never to be heard again.


End file.
